Murder Comes To Downton
by sbarra
Summary: AU/Possible Spoilers... It's the mid-1920s and Matthew has finally recovered from his automobile accident. Mary can barely sleep when he travels on estate business. Pity about the terrifying shriek that suddenly awakens the rest of the Abbey. I take Oscar Wilde's view of fiction - 'the good end happily, the bad unhappily...' *Complete - thanks for reading and reviewing*
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
**_Downton Abbey_, September 1925

The clock in the gallery struck ten and Mary sat bolt upright. Her back was stiff after dozing off at her husband's writing desk. Mary silently cursed herself for falling asleep; their argument before Matthew departed for London still playing on her mind.

She supposed that she had been terribly unfair, but it had taken him years to regain the use of his legs, let alone drive again after his last accident.

Mary crept down the corridor to the nursery and padded inside. Their little boy had only been hours old when Matthew had almost killed himself in horrific accident with a lorry. She tiptoed over to Reggie's side and brushed some of his blonde curls from his temple. Mary hoped that she would not wake Nanny; but she could not help stealing a few precious moments with her little boy. When he was awake, he was getting quite difficult to pin down. He seemed to be always running from one of his grandparents, servants or chasing after his older cousin, Sybil.

Mary smiled to herself at how much he looked like his father. His little forehead had lost its crease now that he slept peacefully. She patted his cheek; remembering the way he had laughed when Matthew had seated him on a pony at his third birthday party helped her to feel much calmer.

Why on earth would Matthew think that matters of estate business were so important that he had to leave her to go all the way to London? Did he not understand how worried she was by every newspaper account of motor vehicle accidents?

Mary glanced out at the quiet grounds. The beauty of raindrops glistening on the ordered hedges and magnificent statues was lost on her. All she thought of was Matthew's horrific injuries after his car accident.

She knew that she should go to her own chamber and sleep soundly. Mary could well imagine Granny or Anna's comments if she looked pale and drawn in the morning.

Mary decided that turning on one or two lights would not rouse Tom or any of the servants. She definitely needed some warm milk to help her settle for the nights. Mary had made it almost to the kitchen before she heard footsteps behind her. She looked around curiously but could not see anyone.

"Pharaoh?" she whispered. "Is that you?"

"Auntie?" a small voice echoed from the bottom of the elegant staircase.

"Sybil!" Mary was startled by her goddaughter's sudden appearance at such a late hour. "Where is your nurse? Does your Daddy know that you have 'escaped'?"

"She is sleeping," Sybil mumbled sleepily, reaching up to be embraced by her young aunt.

Mary clasped her in her arms for a moment, looking at the small girl's mischievous face and seeing her late sister's eyes gleaming in the light.

"Are you sad?" Sybil asked, looking into her darker eyes.

Mary nodded and then said, "I miss Uncle Matthew. He's gone all the way to London." If only she could explain the swirling mass of feelings that weighed her down.

"Where's Reggie?" Amelia asked, thinking about how she much preferred her family to her strict nurse.

"He's asleep, as you should be," Mary replied tiredly, "I shall make us some tea and then take you back to bed."

They were returning from the kitchen when a strong gale blew and a door slammed to their left. Sybil was startled and cried out. The lights on the landing suddenly went out.

Mary turned slightly; hoping the light cast by the following row would help her gain her bearings. Why would someone else be awake, much less pulling the cord to turn off the lights?

"Who's there?" a man barked from her left, a torch distorting his features in the near-darkness.

"Daddy?" Sybil called out hopefully.

"Oh, Mrs Crawley, Miss Sybil - begging your pardon..." Thomas muttered, "You best go back to bed."

Mary did not like the tone of his voice. "I shall do as I please," she replied.

He bristled, "I did not mean any offence, Lady Mary. I merely meant that you should ring the bell if you require one of the maids to fetch you things."

Mary nodded, wondering why he was walking in such an odd manner and why he was awake at such an hour. She listened to his footsteps echoing along the ground floor. She waited until several doors had been opened and closed.

"Are you asleep, Auntie Mary?" Sybil whispered, prodding at her pale cheek.

"Not at all, my darling girl," Mary replied softly. "I just thought that maybe you should sleep in my room. I don't want to risk waking anyone else up!"

"That would be grand," Sybil yawned fondly.

The little girl soon fell in to a deep sleep but Mary tossed and turned. She heard the clock strike twelve and then the air was torn by a terrible shriek, which reverberated throughout the Abbey.

A/N: Please hit that review button :)


	2. Chapter 2

Mary made sure that the blankets were tucked carefully around her small niece. She walked out of the room as quickly and quietly as she could. Mary's heart raced as she made her way towards the sobbing.

One of the new maids was crouched over near the bottom of the ground staircase. Mary rushed to turn on lights as she heard Branson and others begin to call after her. Mary rushed down to help the young servant, fearing she had fallen in what appeared to be snow.

It was then that Mary had to stifle a scream. The trail was not merely snow from some thoughtless servant's boots. It was red; it was blood. A figure was slumped against the steps; the maid was trying to rouse the man.

The vision of Matthew lying crumpled and bleeding as he was rushed to the hospital the day Reggie was born filled her mind. Mary reached the ground. It was a figure wearing a black coat. It was a figure with blondish-brown hair. It was a figure with an iron poker protruding from his back – his clothing askew. Mary could barely breathe as she slumped to the floor beside him.

"Matthew?" she croaked mournfully. Mary shook him, trying to rouse her husband, wishing she could rouse herself from this terrible nightmare.

Mary heaved at his bulk, soaking her hands in his blood as she turned him over. The poker hit the stairs with a clang. Footsteps seemed to echo from every direction, but it was not Matthew! Air flooded back into her lungs. The stranger's lifeless face swam before her tear-filled eyes. Feeling sickened by her own relief that it was not her husband, Mary vomited.

She came to in her father's library, listening to the panicked whispers of her family.

"Who on earth is it, Papa? Branson?" Edith asked.

"Heaven knows," her father replied.

"I could have sworn it was Matthew!" Branson exclaimed, pouring them both a stiff drink.

"I shall go see to it that Carson keeps the body covered!" Robert declared.

The others followed him out, relieved that Mary still seemed to be sleeping off her ordeal. Suddenly the side door was flung open and Matthew strode in, wiping snow from his coat and hat.

"My love?" he said, concern marring his features. "Are you ill?" He rushed towards Mary – his eyes searching her pale face.

"He's dead!" Mary choked out, tears streaming down her face.

Matthew wrapped his arms around her and asked worriedly, "Who's dead?"

"We don't know," she cried, "but there's been a murder!"

"Are you sure you didn't just have a bad dream?" Matthew asked incredulously. "I'm surprised you could sleep. You've left every light in the ground floor on for me."

"We should never have quarreled," Mary murmured, relieved to feel his strong arms around her.

"No, that's why I came back. I can always set off for London next week. I couldn't bear to think of you being so at odds with me."

"Let's go to the grand staircase and you can talk to Papa about the man's body," Mary replied.

Matthew chose his words carefully, "I shall fetch the Doctor for you my dear…"

"No, no… this isn't like the anniversary of Sybil's death… this… look, come with me and see for yourself, Matthew!"

"Master? Madam?" Carson called out, rushing down the corridor with two footmen. "My lady, I do wish that you would retire once more…"

Mary had a vague memory of Carson wiping blood from her hands before settling her in her father's study. She sidestepped his attempts to molly-coddle her and stood beside Matthew, her father, Branson and Edith.

With barely a greeting, Matthew stooped and lifted an edge of the blanket. He grimaced at the stranger's face, accidentally knocking the bloody poker as he hastened to his feet. It made a horrible grating sound on the marble floor.

"I've called for the Police," Robert informed them. "It was certainly not an accident."

Mary stood there shivering. Whatever jackets she donned, she could not get warm. It seemed like Death's cold hands were once again gripping Downton.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, Mary smiled, but her hand shook, as she handed the Dowager Countess another cup of tea. Her mother sat stiffly beside her sister, gazing into the fire.

Mary was not sure what to say to the other women about the stranger dying in their home. She reflected on how foolish she had been more than a decade previously when Mr Pamuk had died in her own bed! Mary sipped her tea, wondering who the victim was. She knew that if Matthew had died she would have found it difficult to go on living, and she felt guilty for not even knowing who the bereaved were in this case.

Mary excused herself from the stifling silence of the drawing room, making the excuse of checking on Sybil. She knew that, just like her son, her goddaughter was playing happily with one of the nurses, however. The young children were oblivious to the previous night's bloodshed.

Instead, Mary went in search of her husband, wanting to be of some support to him at this awful time.

"I have your word, as a gentleman, Sergeant Brand, do I not?" Matthew was saying as she approached, "This shall be between us? My wife..."

"Indeed, sir," Sergeant Brand nodded. His eyes then fell on Mary approaching them. He coughed uncomfortably, alerting Matthew to her presence.

Matthew turned and greeted her warmly. Mary nodded and waited for him to explain the situation. When he did not, she turned on her heel and walked towards the nursery.

"Mary!" he called out impatiently, following her up the stairs. "Whatever is the matter?"

With more petulance than she had intended, Mary turned on him. "You are enlisting people to lie to me! That is the matter!" She lowered her voice and said in a harsh whisper, "A man... who has a family somewhere… was... hurt... in our home and…"

"I do not wish to trouble you about that, my love," Matthew said, reaching out to comfort her.

"Don't patronise me," Mary muttered, her temper flaring. She rushed up the next corridor towards the nursery.

"You shall upset the children!" Matthew remonstrated, catching her arm.

"I shall not," she countered, but she turned and let him embrace her, tired of arguing with him. Mary's arms tightened around him and she was surprised when he scooped her up.

Matthew effortlessly carried her to one of the suites of guest rooms, gently tapping the door closed behind them.

"Where are we going?" her breath was warm against his neck.

"Where we can talk without fear of being overheard," Matthew replied, relieved that some of the tension had left her arms.

He placed her on a chaise lounge beside one of the bay windows. Matthew glanced out at the police cars on the drive, and then sat down beside her.

Mary waited for him to begin, knowing that if she appeared too anxious then he would worry too much to unload his burden.

"Uh," Matthew cleared his throat, "Inspector Stanford, Sergeant Brand and the constables took the man's body into the village. They... He was not killed by here… They believe he was killed… in an automobile accident… and that, his body was dumped here…"

Mary looked at him in disbelief, "Who is he? Why did he look like you? And what could some thug have meant to dump his body here?"

"My dearest," Matthew mumbled uncomfortably, pulling her shaking hands between his warm ones. "There are no answers…"

Mary was unable to keep her composure. The images of Matthew, lying near-death, after he had been rushed to the hospital where she had just given birth, swam before her mind. She was convinced that there was something he was hiding from her. Angry with her own tears betraying her; Mary sat and ignored his entreaties to join him for luncheon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Gather everyone into the drawing room, if you please, Your Lordship." Inspector Stanford said, confidently addressing Lord Grantham.

Carson paced up and down the entry hall, looking the most displeased about the members of the York Police Force 'swarming' about the Abbey.

Upon introduction by Robert, the Inspector expressed his sympathies to the ladies. Cora mumbled an acknowledgement and the Dowager Countess settled herself next to Mary on the settee opposite the police officers.

Branson and Matthew stood near the grand windows. Their faces were grim as they waited for Stanford to reveal his findings.

Stanford followed the cue suggested by Matthew upon their arrival. He waited until the servants had made their way out of the room before beginning to discuss the family's affairs. The only servant to remain behind was Thomas – a witness named in the initial investigation.

Opening a notebook, he began, "Mr Crawley has asked me to keep you all informed. I apologise in advance for any distress that such details might give rise to. Dr Clarkson has determined the cause of death. The gentleman had the misfortune to die from suffocation and internal bleeding due to an automobile accident. He also suffered a broken leg, facial bruising, many lacerations from broken glass and facial swelling."

To nobody's surprise, Mary was visibly upset. Matthew walked over to stand beside her, his hand steadying her trembling shoulder.

After gathering his thoughts, Inspector Stanford continued. "From initial interviews, we did not find out who the unfortunate victim was."

"We can't all be Agatha Christie's heroes," the Dowager Duchess quipped, earning her a sought-after attempted smile from her eldest granddaughter.

Inspector Stanford ignored her, "We did, however, manage to elicit the gentleman's identity from an inscription written on the back of his watch."

"Really?" Lady Edith burst out, intrigued.

"It had been a gift from Lord Grantham," Inspector Stanford continued.

They were all shocked. "Who was the fellow? " the Earl asked at once.

"Frederick Crawley," the Inspector revealed.

"Cousin Freddie," Mary gasped. "No wonder we thought he looked like a little like Matthew! We're all cousins!"

"I haven't spoken to him since the war broke out, " the Earl said, thinking back. "We had something of a falling out over him choosing to be conscientious objector to the hostilities."

"He was a pacifist?" Branson wondered aloud.

The Earl merely nodded.

"I think I met him only once – at Lincoln's Inn, when I was still practicing as a solicitor." Matthew added.

"Oh, how ghastly," Cora ventured. "We shall have to arrange a funeral. I don't know if he had any other relatives, apart from us, not after the war. "

"Our inquiries show that he had been dead for several hours before his remains were left on the rug at the foot of the stairs," the Inspector closed his notebook.

Violet Crawley began to interrogate the Inspector. "Why was his body deposited here? Whose scream was heard throughout the house? "

"The scream is easy to account for, milady," Inspector Stanford replied casually, giving a slight nod to Sergeant Brand. "Lady Edith, would you like to explain?"

"Would I like to explain? You're the policeman," Edith replied indifferently.

"Lady Edith screamed; she, too, was entirely mistaken about the identity of the body."

"I'm not sure what you're implying," the Earl barked worriedly.

Edith shrugged and rolled her eyes, "I thought it was my editor is all. "

"Michael Gregson? Why would he be here in the middle of the night?" her father demanded.

"He often visited me," Edith revealed, feigning nonchalance.

"You were lovers, " Cora surmised, her face flushing in embarrassment and disapproval. "Your father and I shall have words with you later, " she sniffed.

Edith nodded and then glared at Thomas. "You'll have to find someone else to blackmail now!"

Thomas held his tongue and attempted to meekly study the pattern on the plush carpet. He knew that if he protested, it would look even worse that he had not revealed what he knew about the clandestine visits to Mr Carson, or even to the Earl himself.

"Why was the body deposited here?" the Dowager Countess inquired again, breaking the tense silence.

"It was a warning," Sergeant Brand declared. "A threat."

"To whom?" Mary asked anxiously.

"To your family, we presume," Inspector Stanford announced.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Mary walked along the long railway platform, feeling all eyes on her. She tried to tell herself to have the bravery of her dear sister Sybil. Anger at people threatening her family gave her courage. How dare they recreate Matthew's injuries in order to manipulate the Crawley's? What had Cousin Freddie ever done, but prattle on; being a somewhat dull solicitor? He was peace loving to the point of her father's disapproval? It was preposterous to have killed him. She walked with more determination, carrying the leather briefcase with an iron grip. Her skirt swished in the breeze and she studied each stranger emerging from the train, wondering which one was a murderer and extortionist.

The whistle blew and late passengers for the 2:20 train departed in a cloud of steam, dust and the noise of the rattling carriages. Mary checked her watch and began another lap of the busy platform. She wondered why there was a delay. She had, after all, followed every demand in the ransom note to the letter. She had memorized the note that Inspector Stanford had found in her poor cousin's belongings.

_GRANTHAM_,

_We do not call you an Earl, or grovel to you as a Lord. What have you done to earn anyone's respect? Your title is but a sign of the oppression of generations of our suffering people! We spit on your English 'class' and will be happy to see you and all your heirs rot! _

_Your eldest daughter, the wife of the current heir and the mother of the future one, is to bring 50 000 pounds to the local Railway Station at 2pm on Friday. You can rest assured that the funds will be used to arm the true sons of Ireland, unlike your traitorous son-in-law, Branson! _

_If our demands are not met in full, then there will be a Crawley funeral a week until they are!_

_The true Irish Republican Army_

Mary rubbed her aching neck and began another slow lap of the platform. A portly man walked into her path and apologized profusely. Thinking he was the extortionist for a full minute, she was shaken. His accent and manner, however, suggested that he was not a member of the IRA! Chiding herself for her jittery nerves, Mary walked on. She thought about how upset Edith had been over her love affair being revealed. Mary couldn't help feeling sorry for Edith. Then, she thought about Branson and how angry he had been over the IRA's threats to the family. He did, of course, still hold Ireland dear – but it had been many years since he believed that militancy would stabilize its government. Sybil would have been proud of him.

Thinking of her hurried farewell to Reggie and her niece, Mary found herself praying for strength. She knew that her husband and father were concealed close by, but that had not stopped all the family from worrying about her safety. Inspector Stanford had enlisted agents from Scotland Yard to patrol the platform, but there was still a fear that she may be harmed. Some members of the IRA would do anything to grab a headline, particularly if they could grab the briefcase and push her in front of a train!

After all the tension, it was over in minutes. A tall man, his face grave, approached her.

"Hand it over," was all he managed to say, before several 'passengers' pounced him on. He held tight to the case he had exchanged with Mary's. Men from the Yard and the York Police wrestled the terrorist to the ground. Mary, meanwhile, looked down at the case that he had handed her, wondering what it could possibly contain.

It was then that she heard the shrieking. It was Matthew running towards her from the other end of the platform. Branson and her father were also shouting.

"Throw it!" Matthew was yelling.

Mary stood there, stunned, and then it slowly dawned on her, what Branson was shouting.

"Bomb!" Branson yelled.

"Throw it!" Matthew screeched.

Mary looked around her and then decided the safest place to toss it was on to the empty railway tracks. She hefted it to her shoulder and then tossed it down onto the sleepers.

Matthew reached Mary, enfolding her in his arms and shielding her from the blast's echoing noise and the shower of coal dust and rubble. Mary held him tightly, a kaleidoscope of all the storms that they had endured running through her mind. One thing was certain in the aftermath, the love of her family as they all began to arrive, and the strength of Matthew's love for her.

**The End**


End file.
